All our hopes and fears are met in him tonight.

My parents got to travel to Israel last year where they saw where the birth really happened. But truth be told, they were disappointed at how commercialism and tourism had altered the sanctity of the small town. They left with a sense of historical importance, but did not so much get to see what it looked like, or smelled like, or the kinds of people who were there.

This Christmas I am more in love with Jesus than ever, because I’ve gotten to see Bethlehem and I love the people there.

A few months ago, when I went with some of the girls who were heading back to visit their different tiny pueblos, I was struck by the lack of cell phone service, of any farming technology, and electricity. The hills were void of buildings, full of patches of trees, patches pasture, the people did not smell very good, as it was too cold to bathe outside- the only option. The children were attending to the herds and the flocks and would sometimes gather at the central market place, that usually contained a restaurant, one small type convenience store, and good space where people would bring fruits and vegetables to trade on Saturdays. Families were always in transit, someone leaving to go the nearest city for one reason or another, most used mules or donkeys for transportation. The dress is tranditional, the women with thier wool skirts and top hats, and men in farming clothes and straw hats.

I was a stranger, a city girl with jeans who looked pretty strange in the midst of the trading, but I had a connection, the girl by my side.

As I sat with Tomasa in the middle of her pueblo, she would point out the people she knew- that’s’ my uncle- she whispered in my ear. She was too shy and anxious to see her mom to say anything to him. A few more familiar faces passed by and finally she whispered- that’s my sister!

The shepherd girl, with a malnourished baby on her back.

That’s your sister?

Yes.

Are those your family’s sheep?

Yes, I used to take care of them before I started working.

Jesus, my Jesus, came to a town like Tomasa’s. And if he were born in Bolivia, she would have been invited to his birth.

Mary was just about 15 years old, they say, when Gabriel came to her. My Maria at the house is 15. She is sweet as can be, and she is just starting to accept the hard lot in life she’s been given. She loves her baby, we all do. And she’s in a foreign city, and she misses the country, and she is doing her best. We pray for her, because she is starting to open up to God.

I look at her and realize the miracle of Jesus’s birth. God came to be inside a little girl from a small town who had a pure heart, just like Maria. He let her feed him. She probably had her own ideas about remedies and maybe didn’t know how to take care of him as well as some other women in other parts of the world could have. But he didn’t care, she was worth it.

See, Jesus came in the most humble way, so the Bible says. And I love him so much for it. Because if he understood what hardship looked like, then he understands my most vulnerable friends in the world, and came to be vulnerable alongside them to show them that someone does care.

Because just when Estefany was going to give up on life, he reached out to her on the harsh streets of Cochabamba (thank you Mosoj Yan) and brought her in. He was willing to inhabit our home, which was harsh, sometimes cold and smelled bad, so Estafany can now have a home.

I love Estafany so much. She wanted me to video her giving me a goodbye message, telling me that she loves me and won’t forget me. And three months ago this jem was on the streets without enough to eat. But Jesus came to Bethlehem, so he could be the living God of the streets of Bolivia.

And yes, God loves me so much that he called me too. But what I love and is so exciting is that if I lived back then, Tomasa and Maria and Estafany, the lowly “shepherd girls” would have been the ones the angels spoke to.

My girls would have told me about Jesus.

This Christmas will be different for my girls in the house. Some of them know Jesus, some of them know peace this year. I think they some of them are finally getting that while others pass judgment on them and their babies, while others looked at them so ugly thinking of them as street rats, or “sinners”, Jesus didn’t. They, I pray, are starting to get that he just came right up next to them and said- she’s with me.

           

I am nervous, anxious, excited, and at peace with going home. I am heartbroken to leave Albergue. They are all so playful right now. We decorated the Christmas tree, danced around, and made Christmas cookies.  And I know Christmas will be a hard day for them, as they miss family, miss what was, or long for a place of their own.

But I am not leaving them alone with all their hopes and fears. I am putting them in Jesus’ hands. The one who lived their life. The one who came to bring us all hope.

Thank you Jesus.

All our hopes and fears are met in Thee tonight.

If you want to make a difference and change another Maria’s life, change an Estafany’s life, consider giving a priceless Christmas gift and giving a donation to Mosoj Yan this Christmas. They need the funds, yes, but more so what they are doing is bringing the most lowly and vulnerable home to know the Jesus who came to be with them. Let me know, I will make it happen.

Thanks family. Thanks for following, for praying, for supporting, for giving the clothes for the girls that we wrapped up for Christmas (they will LOVE them), and for loving Bolivia with me.

I am bringing home a beautiful Bolivian sister of mine to Chicago (who will be staying, working, and speaks perfect English)- look for us at church and I will definitely bring her to Wheaton in January. Thanks ahead of time for her warm welcome.

Love to you all.

I’ll be home Thursday.

God Bless.

yeah, that's the way this wheel keeps turnin now.

Have you ever experienced that moment where all the sudden you think – Shoot. This is really ending.

It’s that feeling that first came during the last concert, that came the night before I left for college. It came during rides to the airport, and after the break-up I never expected.  It came during the last check-outs after a great RA year, and it came when Rachel left for her honeymoon.

And that feeling, well, it came today. We were at a pool, I wanted to do something fun with the girls for my last weekend with them. We were playing, I was holding baby Susanna. The girls were telling me about the boys who were bothering them. And someone behind me said- what is today?

December third.

In two weeks, I will not be swimming outside, I thought.

And suddenly I hurt all over.

I am excited to go home. I want to see Tommy, my family, my friends, snow at Christmas.

But it’s just confusing and emotional trying to figure out what I am leaving and what I am returning to. It’s confusing trying to make sense of what home is-and why, when I feel it, does it get torn away? Home is there. Home is here. I feel at home with my girls. I feel at home with Abi and Daniel and Ruth and David. I feel at home when I eat a big lunch.

My home is in Wheaton. My home is in the south suburbs. My home is at Parkview. My home is in Cochabamba.

All of these places are home and yet none of them fully is. It’s frustrating. 

But as I come to understand this cycle deeper, I am learning to make peace with it.

Each goodbye is really a humbling reminder that I am so not home, but every goodbye is a reminder that I got glimpses of home, at least for a time.

Because God’s kingdom is the ultimate home I think I long for. And God's kingdom is present here, especially in form relationships.

So the fact that I ever felt at home in Cochabamba, or in Chicago or Wheaton means that I got to experience the beauty of being apart of God's kingdom on earth.

Entonces I go, I love, I experience home because I experience God’s kingdom. And I leave. And part of home stays with them. And part of it goes with me.

And it aches.

And it’s always worth it.

Shoot, this is really ending.

I leave here December 14^th. Pray for us as a little bit of home gets torn away.

13 going on 30…. Or 14 going on 40.

You know the movie 13 going on 30?

A little innocent 13 year old is in a hurry to grow up, and she wishes herself into her future. The 13 year old finds herself as a 30 year old woman with a profession and a boyfriend. She tries to navigate her new life with the perspective of a little girl who thinks sex is gross, people should just always be really nice, and peanut butter and jelly is the way to go.

In the movie, the girl missed all that happened in between year 13 and 30 and the redeeming point in the movie is that although the girl lacks maturity, she hasn’t lost her perspective. She lacks the bitterness and harshness life can bring, and makes good decisions based on her childlike spirit. She falls in love with the right guy and lives a great Jennifer Gardner life. It’s definitely a chick flick.

I wish one of my girls couldn’t so easily relate to premise of the movie.

I sat with my Teresa (a name change) before she left Albergue. And her body is 14 years old. But her eyes really had seen what a 40 year old might know of life’s heartbreaks. It's like she was taken away from a little girls' life and put in the middle of harsh reality. She didn’t wish herself into, and she is too hardened to say that she would wish herself backwards.

Suicide took her mom. She lived on a farm without much money. Her dad worked all day. Her sister ran away. She started cooking when she was 8.

I asked her what she learned as a kid. She said she learned to hide. To lie. To escape. That her favorite things in life will go away.

I know, she needs lots of psychological healing. She also needs Jesus.

But she wouldn’t stay long enough to get the first, and I pray one day she’ll get the second.

This 14 year old and I were talking about her plans now that she decided she was leaving the house. She would work, she would go to school at night, she would make sure to buy fruits and vegetables.

Will you go party? I asked.

No, how could you say that?

Because I love you, I thought, and you are 14. You lack the maturity and the perspective but you are living a 40 year old’s life.

She very seriously told me that she would take care of herself.

And I told her the most mature thing she could do is ask us for help when she needs it.

She said ok.

She tied a friendship bracelet on my wrist. I asked her again if she would stay.

No, she would go live with her sister. (who is 16.)

Teresa, 14 years old is living like a 40 year old. She’ll try to navigate life without a profession, without thinking sex is gross, and maybe never knowing the comfort of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

When Jesus said he came not for the healthy but the sick, he meant it. He is here to be with her. The fact that he ever willing to enter into this world, where little girls live like this, is just really astounding to me. I guess that’s why we call him Savior.

Thank you Jesus for taking care of Teresa as she goes. Thank you for one day giving her the love that can transform her. Thanks for one day restoring her to the place where she can know the comfort of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

(watch over her please.)

Amen.